Different Sort of Beautiful
by illosivy
Summary: Seven short glimpses into Bella's new world. Everyone is beautiful in their own way, and everyone has something to teach. Canon.  Part I: Jasper. Part II: Rosalie.
1. Humilitas

**Title:** Different Sort of Beautiful  
><strong>Part I of VII: <strong>_Humilitas (Humility)  
><em>

**Summary: **Seven short glimpses into Bella's new world. Everyone is beautiful in their own way, and everyone has something to teach. Canon. Part I: Jasper.

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><p>He's beautiful. Even to her dull human eyes he'd stood out, but with her vision perfected she finally understands what it is about Jasper—<em>Jasper Hale? Jasper Whitlock?<em> that— (_Why were even vampires so attached to their first names-? _a part of her sprawling mind wonders, but her focus remains on the tense, battle-hardened creature before her.)

Silvery lines glitter along his throat, so fine they look like drained capillaries—but Bella knows better. Some of the scars are jagged, like thick rope burns, and as her over-bright eyes run across each one, she feels the hairs on her body stand, and she finally understands that Jasper is beautiful because of these very imperfections.

These scars spell _danger _and that very fear alerts the senses, and heightened senses, human or vampire, cannot help but appreciate the fine web of mortality drawn on immortal flesh.

She finally understands what it is about Jasper that makes him beautiful. The imperfections forged on him… the passage of time etched into him like tallies on a jail cell wall, make him look… real. Somehow, seeing Jasper makes Bella feel more human than anything else—and though her heart cannot race, she sometimes feels little bursts of joy beat in her chest when her gaze catches the glint of scar tissue under light.

He is the ultimate reminder that even _forever _is not to be taken for granted. Every moment is to be respected, to be cherished, and seeing Jasper makes the endless days seem precious rather than monotonous. The seeming invincibility of granite limbs and sprawling memory could feed hubris, and yet when Bella sees Jasper she remembers to appreciate all of their blessings.

They feed into each other, of course. Bella catches sight of Jasper, and though Jasper never quite figures out what the emotion is, it soars—and before they know it they're standing face to face, sitting knee to knee, smiling, grinning, until Nessie comes hollering to show Bella something, or Edward steps in, growling half-jokingly at Jasper to reclaim his mate, or Alice intercedes with a giggle and a catalogue. To be interrupted is inevitable for them, because they never have to breathe, never have to change, never have to leave, and when one has _forever_it's easy to lend oneself to such distractions.

Sometimes, they speak. And when they do, it's never the competitive banter Bella loves to engage in with Edward, or the teasing tones she takes with Alice, or the careful, measured words she uses around Rosalie. They speak only when they want to, and only once they are ready, and for minds that can catalog every dust mote, it is easy to pick up where they left off on a conversation even if minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years have passed.

Nessie is playing with the ties of Rose's dress a little ways away, and Bella is sitting cross legged across from Jasper. Edward and Jake are arm wrestling—for Nessie's amusement originally, but pure competition now. A little ways behind Jasper, Alice decorates Jake's "dog house," which was built by Rosalie in a very literal moment. The sun shimmers above them, glittering off their skin and Bella asks:

"Why do you think our names matter so much to us? We drop our last names… that's where all the history is, isn't it? None of our first names are one of a kind—and even names that go out of style come back into vogue after a while…" It's a clichéd question asked by countless people, and before Bella finishes, Emmett's voice recites the most familiar rendition:

"That which we call a _Rose_—" he begins, appearing quite suddenly to spin Rosalie. The action results in a light tearing sound, and as Rose scowls in the loop of Emmett's arms, Nessie is left holding the ripped ties of her dress. Jake, never one to let a stab at Rose go, is already howling with laughter by the time Emmett finishes: "—by any other name would smell as sweet!"

He looks quite proud of himself, and when he hunches over to kiss her forehead, Rose's lips twitch just slightly, betraying the smile behind the frown.

"Smelling sweet isn't necessarily a good thing, you know," Jake adds in, scrunching his nose even though he'd long ago gotten used to the company of vampires, "I won't argue if you want to choose a more fitting name for her though… like _Agnes_… or _Hellga_."

Long after Rosalie has called Jake _mutt, cur, _and _mongrel,_ in response to Jake's _frigid bitch, prissy peacock,_ _vapid princess_, Jasper turns to Bella and says:

"It's what our loved ones have always called us. All of them—human or immortal—" He glances over at where Nessie is now making peace between Rose and Jake, and Bella sees a smile touch his lips, "…it might be sentimental, but I think we're allowed at least one _human_tendency, don't you?"

As he speaks those words, she hears it. Countless voices, beloved in different degrees, calling out her name—Renee, always a little frazzled but bright, Charlie, stern but gentle, Angela's voice over the phone, teachers calling attendance, classmates, Jake, the Pack, Alice's voice dancing, Rosalie, severe but always serious, Esme, whose intonations are soft, always, Carlisle laughing, Emmett growling, and then—Edward, whispering right in her ear, yelling in alarm, reciting her name with reverence on their wedding night, his sweet tone on the beach, on their honeymoon, his broken voice during the pregnancy, his awe-stricken voice upon Renesmee's arrival, the quiet confidence behind it as he declares her the reason for victory over the Volturi…

"_Bella_," she hears, and all those voices and moments collide into one. Suddenly she is face to face with the present, instead of the past, Jasper looking at her with a bit of concern, a bit of curiosity. She realizes that she's been wholly lost in thought for a few minutes—quite a feat for a vampire—and looking at Jasper, she can't help but smile.

"Sorry. I was having a human moment."


	2. Industria

**Title:** Different Sort of Beautiful  
><strong>Part II of VII:<strong> Industria (Diligence)

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><p>Total coordination. From the subwoofers to the rims, from the little rose drawn under the hood of every car, to the perfect maintenance of <em>new car smell<em> across decades.

Where compromise is needed, the balance is perfect, custom fit for the rider: speed for Edward, power for Emmett, modifiability for Alice, durability for Jasper, classical for Carlisle, subtlety for Esme, and—_audacity embodied_ for herself, as far as Bella can tell.

Rosalie thrives for perfection, and to watch her work on the cars is thrilling, even for a non-enthusiast of vehicles.

The first few years, Bella doesn't see it. She hears engines running like clockwork, brakes being checked—the smell of grease and motor oil pungent at least once every three days. This work seems monotonous to her, and at first Bella dismisses this as another facet of Rose's shallowness: repetition, monotony—beautiful, but boring. The idea of spending hours tuning each car seems frivolous.

It is hard to overcome notions that are already conceived. Edward had told her vampires were like stone, slow to change—and sometimes she forgets this. She forgets how strongly her human impressions color her immortal views—like Emmett's fixation on bears, certain things carry over.

To her, Rosalie is the ferocious ally; savior of her child, and yet never quite _friend_. Edward calls her _shallow_, and Bella cannot find it in herself to disagree at first.

The first thing she notices is her nail polish.

It's never _quite_ the same.

Tuesday is a light, lovely pink, solid in color like the tulips Esme plants out back for blossoms in April. Wednesday, a touch darker, like spring's first blossoms on crab apple trees. Thursday is peony pink with little flecks of white, like baby's breath lost in a bouquet. This continues, day after day—and every month Rosalie's nails cycle through the seasons, one way or another. This month, a progression through flowers, with a focus on pink—the next, a catalog of typical weather splashed beneath her cuticles. October, her fingertips follow the moon, November, her hands reflect the cycle of a citrus tree—from young green, mature jade, white blossoms, orange fruit…

She realizes, slowly, the yearning for change behind the colors. Rose's flesh is un-aging, and yet her nails cycle through time, never wearing the same shade. Bella notices this, because Nessie shows her one day, projecting images of Rosalie's nails across one cycle, delighting in her adoptive aunt's splashes of color.

It would be easy to dismiss this as another trait of shallowness. Just colors painted on, shed after the eve—and yet somehow it feels like so much more than that.

And then, one winter morning, Bella finds Rose in the living room. Gone are the usual feminine clothes, and in their place, controlled chaos: screaming stilettos hidden under artfully torn jeans, a white beater, with some grease stains, and her hair thrown up in a bun that is coming apart, but will never come apart. Bella blinks once—twice—expecting, any moment, for her vision to reflect a perfectly tailored dress instead, but Rosalie remains in the disheveled state, a red bra strap hanging off her shoulder.

"…is it cosplay week again?" She asks, testing the waters.

To be fair, there had been a cosplay week once; it had been initiated by Alice and Jasper… one Spring day, the family had gone out to hunt—and just as they were inching up on a herd of deer they'd heard a familiar trill of laughter. As the deer darted away, Alice, too caught up in her antics to divine her own fate, had run past her family…

…dressed, quite simply, in _nothing_ but a bright red cape that was too short for her speed. Before the family had a chance to appreciate Nessie's choice to stay at home with Jake, Jasper made an appearance, wearing a ridiculous set of wolf ears and _very little else_.

The pair was eternally thankful that Nessie hadn't been around, as she could project the image to the entire world, and that Jake hadn't witnessed the event—for obvious reasons.

It had set off a series of ridiculous antics between all of the adult couples. They rarely spoke of it—too much dirt on one another from it—but it never failed to stir a smile.

"No," Rose says, a slight smile turning the corner of her lips. And as always she is straight to the point—no further questioning is needed before she provides: "there's a mechanic out in Arizona… Alice saw me meeting him. He's come up with just the thing I needed to speed up Emmett's car without losing any horse power… I'm going to drive straight there—thought I should look the part."

It's no hesitation, no strings—just a silent confidence in her success, and suddenly Bella realizes that everything that makes Rosalie _Rose_ is her unerring belief in the existence of _progress_. Even across the unchanging days, she finds _something_ different, and the reason Rose is so _perfect_ is not because she repeats the same formula, again and again, but because she strives, constantly, to move forward.

A vampire that treasures the seasons, who believes in evolution—of technology, of life, of thought… she paints her nails with an unending fidelity, and refuses to settle for _good enough_. What must be compromised one day, can be improved the next, and with limitless time and resources her diligence proves her always triumphant.

Diligence, Bella realizes, can appear monotonous—shallow. To her untrained ears, the cars purr to life at the same time every week, and the regiment Rosalie runs them through seems unnecessary and dry… but with appreciation for the patience, for the work ethic it takes to do such an unappreciated job—and, instead of falling into routine, to constantly seek ways to improve…

Suddenly, she sees Rosalie—not as the one color dabbed onto her nails on any given day, but as a collection of all of those pigments—an array of bright shades, violent hues, of gentle tints and lovely tinges. She sees the subtleties, the openness it takes to display her want for change daily, the strength it takes to persist after decades of inconsistent progress—and this—this is the basis of her beauty. Where others would slack once titled _perfect_, Rosalie is always looking for the _next_ perfect.

Just before leaving, Rose turns to her—and with a bit of a rushed air, she says:

"I don't want Emmett to see me now…" a quick, stern look followed by: "Don't start cosplay week until I get back—we're going to jump start it this time."

And as Bella hears her sister speed away _just _as Emmett clears the stairs, she smiles—because, just as she looks to improve each car, just as she never repeats the same polish, Rosalie, Bella realizes, will never be one to let her love life die, will never let her family fall apart, and she will never, ever let them _settle_. And that—is a daunting task for an immortal, requiring strength that bequeaths beauty.

When Rose returns, Bella will ask her what the color on her nails means.

She will ask her every day after.

She will ask her, for eternity.


End file.
